


At the End

by your_bro_joe



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Character Death, Committed Relationship, Death, Death from Old Age, Family, Hospitalization, Implied Relationships, Loss, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 14:21:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/825277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/your_bro_joe/pseuds/your_bro_joe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The three of them have loved each other for three decades, but all things must end.</p>
<p>Warning for major character death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the End

Scout thinks about Medic alone, slipping away in the middle of the night, wondering where he and Heavy are and why they’ve left him there to face death by himself, and he’s so furious he wants to take a bat to every doctor, every nurse, every orderly in this goddamned hospital for restricting night visiting hours to family only regardless of who came up with the policy because if he’s not family then _what the fuck is he_ and distantly he hears a noise that can’t possibly be human but it is, and it’s coming from him, and a harried-looking nurse is pulling him aside to say “Sir, I know you’re upset about your father, but you’re upsetting the other patients” and that’s the only relationship people dare think they have and he cracks; _screams_ “He’s not my FUCKING FATHER” and jams the heels of his hands into his eyes, choking back heavy sobs while the whole floor stares at him, lost.

* * *

“I’ll try to hold on, so that he doesn’t have to worry,” Medic says weakly, eyes fixed on Scout’s shadow in the hallway outside. Heavy strokes his hair, squeezing a hand too weak to squeeze his back.

“I will take care of him, moya lyubov,” Heavy answers, “do not worry.”

Tears have been streaming steadily down his face for a while now, but his voice hasn’t cracked; he’s shown no other signs of distress. Scout’s behavior is pushing him, though, beyond the boundaries of acceptance and back into the helplessness of fear; fear of losing a man he’s been steadfastly in love with for three decades.

“Do not worry.”

* * *

When visiting hours end, Scout refuses to leave and Heavy has to half-push, half-carry him to the elevators and out to the car, only to have Scout refuse to let him start it, insisting they sleep in the parking lot, in case they get a call. Heavy worries they’ll get harassed by the night watch guards but Scout is so insistent and so earnest that Heavy can’t say no, even after he reminds Scout they’ll probably call the house first and Scout says that the time they’ll save by being close will make up for the time it takes them to call their cell phone.

It’s cold, with no blankets in the car, and it’s cramped and Heavy’s back starts hurting fairly soon, but Scout is clinging to him like a lifeline, like he’s the only thing he has left in the world, and he doesn’t have the heart to move. They sleep fitfully, wrapped in each other, waiting.

* * *

Heavy is the one to find him, on his side in the shower, hands wrapped tightly in the plastic curtain as he desperately tries to right himself. It’s not the first time Medic has fallen, but it is the first time he hasn’t immediately called one of his partners for help after doing so. Heavy can tell there is something different this time, and even as Medic fights, he can see the resignation etched deep in every line on his doctor’s face.

Heavy isn’t as strong as he used to be, but he is strong enough to carry Medic to their bed, dress him, and carry him to their car. Medic wants to protest; knows this will only lead to hospitals, to hospice, to nowhere, and he just wants to be _home_ , goddammit, but he says nothing, paralyzed by age and weakness and knowledge.

He refuses to cry.

Heavy calls Scout at work once the nurses tell him they’ll keep Medic overnight. He knew they would; they do each time, running the same tests and performing the same procedures. When Scout shows up, still running after all these years, he sees the sign outside the room, “Fall”, and it is to him a death knell.

* * *

They’ve received no call by the time morning comes and they’re allowed back into Medic’s room. Scout sucks in a deep breath almost immediately, trying to keep himself from causing another scene. Heavy puts a firm hand on his shoulder, guiding him to sit in a chair at one side of the bed while Heavy sits at the other. The patient in the other bed in the small room is another old man, alone, watching game shows on the tiny television set. Heavy pulls the curtain between them, ignoring the tinny applause.

Medic, for his part, tries to be comforting, a role that never suited him even in the best of times. “Mein men,” he says, a smile on his lips, but his voice is a fragile thing, and Scout clutches his hand, careful of the IV there.

“We’re here,” he answers, acutely aware of every twitch of his doctor’s muscles; the gentle grasp he has on his hand. “We ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

Medic licks his lips and smiles again at him, then at Heavy, who reaches out to brush gray hair back from his older partner’s forehead. The doctor leans into that touch, and Heavy lets his hand rest on his cheek.

“Do you remember,” he says, voice a little stronger, a little louder, to put his lovers at ease, “back in New Mexico, what the team said when they found out about us?”

Heavy smiles broadly. “Da. Soldier say to keep it under our hats, and Spy say, ‘which ones?’ And everyone laughed.” He strokes his thumb over Medic’s sunken cheek and glances at Scout. “And no one judged.”

And they remember, and they laugh, to keep themselves from crying.

* * *

“They are going to give me morphine, Liebe,” Medic says softly, one hand stroking Scout’s hair, the youngest man having finally found enough peace to sleep with his head on the edge of Medic’s bed, “to help with the pain, and let me sleep.”

Heavy nods, holding Medic’s other hand in both of his.

“I may not wake up.”

Heavy’s grip tightens.

“If that happens, I want you to tell Scout—”

“You will tell him yourself,” Heavy rumbles. Medic frowns.

“Heavy, what is the matter? I thought you were beyond these dramatic gestures.” Heavy looks ashamed.

“So did I. But…” he lets the word hang there for a moment. “I never expected it to end like this,” he admits, and Medic sighs.

“Truthfully, neither did I. With our carelessness, I expected one or all of us to go much sooner.” He looks up at Heavy with his face lined by age, and he looks so old and fragile that Heavy’s heart almost breaks right there. “But that did not happen. And here we are.”

Medic looks back down at Scout, so much older than he was when they met over thirty years ago, but sleeping, with his boyish buck teeth showing, he still looks so innocent; so young.

“You will be all he has left,” Medic says quietly, scratching gently at the American’s scalp, “be strong for him, as you have always been.”

Heavy nods. “Da, Doctor.” It is the final command Medic will give him.

* * *

Heavy leaves the room briefly, to get lunch for himself and Scout, but Medic knows the absence is just as much for that as it is for Scout to get a chance to talk to the doctor alone, and Medic is grateful to him for that.

“I’m scared, Doc,” Scout admits quietly, still holding Medic’s hand.

“What are you scared of, mein kleiner Vogel?” Medic asks. His voice is a delicate rasp at this point, and Scout scrunches his eyes shut for a moment before continuing.

“A lotta things, but,” he sighs. “Heavy’s been… he’s been gettin’ forgetful lately.” Medic watches him silently. “And I… I worry. Like you,” he says, gesturing at the older man, “you’re sharp as a tack. Even now, you’re lucid.” The last word leaves a bitter taste in his mouth; a word he never thought he’d use for his partners. His demeanor changes to one of hopelessness. “And I’m scared that he’s gonna get worse, and he’s gonna forget, and one day he’s gonna ask for you and it’s gonna break me.”

“Scout, I am surprised at you,” Medic says, and even with his voice so dim, Scout can hear the lecture in his tone. “You are one of the strongest men I know. We have always taken care of each other, ever since our days with Mann Co. You and Heavy are taking care of me and each other now, and when you leave, I expect you to keep it that way.” He looks at Scout over the rim of his glasses. “And if it should come to that with Heavy, I expect you to take care of him.” He settles back further into his pillow. “Can you do that, Vogelchen?”

Scout bites his lip, but he smiles, even though it’s small. “You’re right, Doc,” he lets a small laugh escape, “you’re always fuckin’ right.” He sits up straighter and leans forward, placing a kiss on the doctor’s forehead. “‘Course I can.”

Medic smiles back at him and tilts his head, letting them kiss chastely around the tube under his nose. Scout smiles against him, comforted for now.

* * *

As the afternoon fades into evening, Medic becomes tired. The nurse has injected him with morphine, to help him sleep, and reminded Heavy and Scout that visiting hours will be over soon. Scout made to snap at her, but Heavy held him back with a great hand on his shoulder, too tired himself to deal with another scene.

For as long as they can, the two men sit on either side of Medic’s bed, each holding a thin, fragile hand. Their conversations have faded into occasional observations and comfortable, if uneasy, silence. With a deep sigh, Medic speaks softly.

“I am tired.”

“So sleep,” Scout replies, stroking his hand with a thumb. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”

Medic smiles absently. “I will wait for you.”

“You don’t gotta wait,” Scout says with a light chuckle, “we ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“Mein men,” Medic hums, looking at them at past them, “I will wait for you.”

A stillness descends on them then, as Scout and Heavy realize what their beloved doctor is saying. Scout’s grip tightens on Medic’s hand, and Heavy instinctively reaches for the younger man’s shoulder to comfort him.

“I am so tired.”

“Go to sleep, Doctor,” Heavy repeats, “and sleep well. We will see you again.”

Medic smiles, settling back into the pillows, and lets his eyes drift shut.

* * *

They get the call almost an hour after they leave the hospital. Heavy takes it, speaks in a measured voice, and tells them he’ll call the funeral home in the morning. When he hangs up, Scout is crying. Heavy embraces him, and cries right along with him.

Scout takes the rest of the week off work; it’s all he can afford. The company doesn’t recognize Medic as a family member, so he doesn’t get the same amount of grieving time as he would had Medic been his wife. He’s angry about it, but says nothing, taking what he can get, helping Heavy with the funeral arrangements.

They’d bought a plot in New Mexico a decade ago, when the thought of this day seemed so far off. It was actually four plots: one for Medic, one for Scout, and two for Heavy. It had been an event tinged with sadness at the thought of their inevitable deaths, but also one of reinforced commitment; acknowledging that they loved and cared about each other enough that they chose to remain together even after they were gone.

Friends and family come to the graveside service; Heavy’s sisters and their families, a few of Scout’s brothers and theirs, the members of their team that haven’t been lost to alcohol or bad business or time.

Heavy and Scout sit closest to the casket, and Scout is wedged between Heavy and the Engineer, who had lost Sniper a few years earlier when a job went wrong. There had been no funeral for him; he had asked only that his ashes be scattered at the farm where he grew up. In the present time, Engineer is inscrutable as ever behind dark goggles. Scout imagines they contain his tears. He imagines everyone is as sad as he is, even Spy, who sits at the back, the death of Scout’s mother still too fresh to him to come too close to her youngest son.

There is an almost pleasant finality when the casket is lowered, the vault shut, and Heavy and Scout throw their handfuls of dirt.

Condolences are offered, and they accept them graciously; the handshakes and hugs, the kisses and flowers. The mourners leave alone and in groups, but Scout tugs Heavy’s arm, urging him to stay and watch as the grave is filled and fresh sod laid upon it. The workers pay them no mind as long as they stay out of the way, used to the grieving needing this last bit of closure.

When the workers leave, the lovers at last approach the headstone, examining the inscription they’d chosen together: MEDIC and his class symbol, flanked on either side by doves, his birth and death dates, and below that, his nicknames, in English, German and Russian. His birth name is not included; a past he had no longer felt any connection to, he had told them, and that his life had begun anew when he met them. The only names he needed were the ones they gave him, and that is all there is.

“We’ll see you again, Doc,” Scout whispers, holding Heavy’s hand. Heavy squeezes it. They walk back to their car.


End file.
